


Happenstance

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Earthquakes, F/M, Fluff, Humor, One Shot, Romance, Smut, Trapped, Trapped In Elevator, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Things get heated between Sansa and Sandor during a chance encounter!





	Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for wandering onto my fic! The community here at Ao3 has been UH-MAZING! I love you guys!
> 
> Please enjoy this little feel-good Sansan fic my mind has conjured <3
> 
> Big thanks to hardlyfatal for being an awesome beta! (I'm using more commas!!)

Sansa stared at the screen of her phone, hand still on the key that she had just used to lock her apartment door, as a wide smile grew on her face. She couldn't believe the good news, and as she pulled the key out and started walking down the hall, she gave a little hop of joy. 

Her ex, Joffrey Baratheon, had been arrested on a litany of charges ranging from drug possession and manufacturing, to possession with intent to sell counterfeit goods. He was going to be put away for a long, long time. 

This was a fantastic development in the saga that was her history with Joffrey, although she couldn't take the least amount of credit for this one. He had walked straight into a trap set up jointly by the DTF and the FBI, and had walked out with handcuffs on both him and his mother. 

Sansa could care less how much time they spent in prison, as long as they got what they deserved. Those were two horrible people who should never be allowed into the general population. 

His mother, Cersei, was vindictive and conniving. When Sansa had been with Joffrey, Cersei had done everything she could to undermine not only Sansa but Joffrey as well—her own son, heir to the Baratheon fortune. Cersei was bitter if anyone around her was happy, which thankfully Sansa was not. It could have been much worse for her had she never grown to see the hatred and disgusting character hidden inside Joffrey's pale face. Cersei would have made her life a living hell, in fact. Thank God she had gotten out of there in time. 

Some days she wished she had never set eyes on Joffrey in college. But she had, and bring as young as she was, she had thought it was love at first sight. 

Moving back to New York had been the right move. Her family all lived upstate, only an hour's drive from where she lived in the city. Getting to see them on a regular basis was worth packing up her few belongings from Joffrey's wing in the family mansion in Malibu and moving back to the North, where she had been raised. 

The email from her mother stated that Sansa would not be called to testify, as there was no need. The case was cut and dried, and it was likely that even the mass of Baratheon lawyers wouldn't be able to get them out of this mess. The long-time smuggling operation that operated out of the Baratheon compound had been discovered and dismantled, with ample evidence to put both mother and son away for a long time. 

Your father insists on celebrating, wrote her mother in the email, and though I detest the idea of celebrating something so base as the arrest of those people, I wouldn't mind seeing my beautiful eldest daughter. I know it's only been a week but I seem to miss you more now that you live close by. 

Do consider my offer of moving home. Your brothers and sister have left your room as it was when you left for college, and there will always be a place for you at our table. 

We will be in the city today by five, and have reservations at La Bew for 7:00pm. 

All my love, 

Mom 

She came to the elevator doors and pressed the button, knowing it would take a moment for the carriage to reach her floor if it was at the bottom. She pressed the reply button on her email program and started typing a response. 

The carriage got there faster than she thought it would so as the doors opened she continued to type, barely registering the tall man who stood to the side of the elevator. There must have been several hundred people living in that building and she had never bothered to meet many of them. The turnover for residents was ridiculous, and it seemed like she was spotting a new face every week. 

She backed up into the opposite corner and kept her eyes on the phone. The man in the corner stayed silent as she typed away, and she didn't mind. She was never the elevator-conversation type, and knowing there was a long, open tube below the elevator carriage had always made her nervous. There was nothing to stop them if the elevator decided to plunge towards the ground. 

The lights flickered in the elevator. Somewhat alarmed, Sansa glanced up at the bank of lights above them. She knew that lights didn't just flicker in an elevator for no reason. But they seemed to normalize quickly, and with a deep breath, she went back to her phone. 

The lights flickered again, and she glanced over at the man beside her as the carriage shook with a small tremor. Scared now at what would make lights flicker like that, she looked up at the man to gauge his reaction. He was so tall, she thought, but he was looking up as well, examining the lights and waiting for them to stop flickering. In the bursts of light she could see the edges of his long black hair lying on the tops of his shoulders. A moment of recognition passed through her mind as the carriage shifted jarringly and was suddenly plunged into darkness, the only light the glow from her phone. 

"Oh my--" With her other hand, Sansa reached out to grab the man's sleeve in a tight fist. 

Then the bottom of the world fell out from beneath them. She could barely hear the man yell as her scream ricocheted inside the small space. She felt her head hit something at the same time that it felt like someone punched her in the stomach, and she lost consciousness.

• • • • •

Sandor must have scraped his back on something, because now it throbbed like a motherfucker. He grimaced as he took stock of his body, feeling one leg bent up beneath him and the other outstretched. That one hurt as well, and he felt a weight on it that made it worse.

His arms seemed to be okay, and he was able to move his head and shoulders just fine. His entire body felt like it had been hit by a train, but as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. 

He sat up slowly, feeling around on the floor to see if there was any broken glass or plastic, but felt none. His fingers touched something laying on the floor and as he picked it up he knew it was a phone. He felt for buttons on the side and, though he pressed them all multiple times, the screen would not come on. His rubbed his thumb over the surface and felt the many cracks in its surface. 

Then he realized, the phone belonged to a woman who had been in the elevator with him. He put his hands out, instinct telling him the weight on his legs was her body. Gods help him, please let her be alive. He didn't want this woman to die while he was trapped in an elevator with her. This woman, whom he had glimpsed many times outside the building where they both lived. He would miss seeing her, even though she had never spoken to him, likely had never seen him. 

During his afternoon runs he usually dressed to blend in—sweats and a hoodie, hood pulled up and hair hiding his face. He tried to be inconspicuous, especially because there were so many families with young children in the building. He didn't want to scare anyone. Though admittedly, at six-and-a-half-feet tall, he knew not many people could look through him. 

He reached out to feel where her body lay. There, that was her arm, and her head. She wasn't moving, but he felt in front of her mouth and sensed warmth breath. Relief washed over him—she's alive. 

His hands traveled down her back and he realized her torso was draped over his leg. He left it there but softly adjusted himself so he could bring his other leg out from beneath him. That movement gave him more room to feel her arms—no broken bones from what he could tell—and to run his hands down her back, over her butt and to her legs, where again he couldn't feel any broken bones. 

Good. She probably just had the wind knocked out of her when she fell on his leg. But what the hell had happened? He remembered the lights flickering, the trembling of the carriage, and the jolt—earthquake, he surmised, though how big, he didn't know. Big enough to render this elevator useless and to throw them around like rag dolls. 

He pulled out his phone for light and set it on the floor beside him, then scooped up the woman so he could turn her over. He had to brush her soft hair out of her face. After he did, he gently patted her cheeks, noting as he held his phone up the low bump that had formed on her forehead. That was going to be a nasty bruise, he thought. 

He put the phone down again as she stirred, turning her head and wincing at the movement. 

"What--" she began, but she didn't finish. She brought a hand up to her head and felt the bump, pausing to take in the abnormal size. Then she let the same hand fall to her stomach and she groaned. "What the hell," she ground out. He had a hard time seeing her face in the low light, but he figured it was time to talk. 

"The elevator is stuck," he said, "And nothing appears to be working." Indeed the light illuminating the emergency call button appeared to be burnt out. To illustrate his point he shone the light from his phone directly on it and pushed, with no response. 

"We have to get out," she exclaimed through clenched teeth, though her voice was panicked. He watched her searching the floor of the elevator. 

He held out her phone to her and she took it quickly. "My phone!" She exclaimed, but as she pushed the buttons she started to get agitated. "No... it's not working! Why is it not working?" 

"You need to calm down," Sandor said slowly, knowing she had a bump on her head and needing her to relax. He didn't know a lot about head injuries. 

She got up on her knees and hit the screen of her phone with the heel of her hand. "Work, damnit! I need to get out, I need to get to my family!" She began to cry, and still she panicked. "I can't die in here, I just found out about—I can't die in here!" 

She was going to hurt herself so as she started to stand he reached for her, but he hadn't needed to. She collapsed in a brief faint, but as she fell, he caught her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. She shivered as she came out of it, and her hands came up to grasp at his sweater, crying into his chest. 

"We're not going to die," he whispered into her hair, rocking her and soothing her as best he could. 

When he left his apartment for his run today, this was not what he had anticipated. And despite the feeling of bumps and bruises all over him, and the crying mess of a woman that was in his lap, he had to admit that he liked the way she felt in his arms. 

"Can you make a call?" She asked him quietly, sniffling. He pulled his phone over. No bars. But he tried anyway for her benefit, only to get the sound he knew she dreaded hearing. It started her tears afresh and he rubbed her back, wishing for her sake that this hadn't happened. 

They sat there for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and he thought both of them were likely waiting and listening for sounds of their rescue. None came, and after a while it also began to grow warm in there. He figured it was likely their body heat doing it, but he maneuvered her off him so he could pull his sweater over his head. When she realized what he was doing she also pulled off her wool jacket and set it aside. But then she came right back to his side, and though he was startled that she had done that, he wrapped an arm around her back and held her to him. 

"Do you mind?" She asked meekly, one hand on his thigh and the other grabbing the front of his t-shirt. 

Sandor had to clear his throat before answering. It wasn't often—or ever, really—that he had a woman curl up at his side like this. "Not at all." Then he noticed the blinking red light on his phone. "Fuck," he muttered, reaching for it. "My phone is going to go dead if I don't turn it off." 

She stiffened against him, and in the still quiet he could hear her swallow. He stilled, the phone laying in his hand on his lap. 

"It's okay," she murmured, though he knew it wasn't. But there was no help for it. He turned off his screen and put the phone on top of his sweater. 

They sat there again for just a few minutes, but Sandor wanted to do something for her. Something to ease her mind. So he went against everything he had ever taught himself about interacting with other people, and said the dreaded words. 

"Do you want to talk?"

• • • • •

Sansa brought her hand up to wipe at the tears drying on her face. She was so embarrassed. Here she was in the elevator with the man she could have sworn she'd seen running a few times, a stranger to her, nearly on his lap and holding onto his shirt while crying into his chest.

But she wasn't going anywhere. He was offering her the only comfort to be had in this tiny, enclosed space, and she was going to take it for as long as he was giving it. 

"Yes," she replied quietly to his question, though he had sounded hesitant in asking it. Perhaps he really didn't want to talk and was only doing it because they were stuck here together? 

"What's your name?" 

Sansa snorted. Yes, she supposed they should start with that. "Sansa. And yours?" 

"Sandor," he replied. She liked the sound of his voice. It was deep, sort of raspy, the kind of voice a woman would like to hear in her ear during sex. 

Good lord, what made her think of that? She covered her surprise by asking him another question. 

"How old are you, Sandor?" 

"36. You?" 

"25." It was his turn to snort. "What?" She asked, wanting to know why he had reacted so. 

"Young'un," was his reply, and she chuckled. Despite the blackness in the carriage, the small reason to laugh was helping to ease her nerves. 

"Not so young, sir. I've graduated college and recently moved back to New York to become a photographer. My work is already in three galleries and I plan on getting more offers in the near future." 

"Are you married?" 

" No. Why? Is that a qualifier for being an adult?" 

He laughed at that, his chest shaking against her cheek. She could feel the warmth of his thighs where hers leaned against them. 

"No," he said, and then he admitted, " I’m not married, either. I just wanted to know." 

Sansa had to admit, having light-hearted conversation was definitely helping her. She searched her mind for another question. 

"How about right now? Are you seeing anyone?" She bit her lip at the forward question but wanted to keep her mind off their predicament, and it was the first thing she thought of. Perhaps she wondered if there was a woman out there who would be upset with her for touching him like this, and for sharing his space. 

She felt his body tense as he answered, "No, not right now." Had she asked the wrong question? 

"Why?" 

"Why do you want to know?" 

"Just curious," she answered, though now more so because his whole body was rigid. Was it a sore subject? She didn't want to spend the next god-knows-how-long with someone who was irritated with her, so she added, "You don't have to answer that. I'm sorry for asking." 

They sat for a few minutes and Sansa wondered if, because of her question, the line of questions they were asking each other was over. Sandor resumed rubbing her back but had quit talking. She guessed she would have to take what she could get, and if his soothing hands were all that was going to be forthcoming, than that's what she would take. 

But after a time she felt him take a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. Then he began to speak. 

"I tend to not be... the most approachable person," he said, haltingly. "I am not the kind of person—I have a pretty bad scar," he corrected, sounding like he was tired of skirting the subject. Then she could hear the self-deprecating smile in his voice. "The darkness in here might be the only thing saving you from having to see it. It's pretty bad." 

Sansa was shocked. She couldn't recall ever seeing a scar on him when she'd seen him running. Then again, he was usually either running in the opposite direction so she got a good look at his toned butt, or he was running with his head down, his hair flapping about his face. 

"It can't be that bad," she assured him, "If you're living in a busy building, working a job and getting out during the day—really, how bad could it be?" She said the words but inside she was both sad for the man, and apprehensive that she had no idea what his scar looked like. "Besides," she added thoughtfully, though she blushed at her next statement, "I don't know too many women who would pass up dating a guy of your size." 

Sandor coughed, and she felt her face flame. "I mean, you're tall. Very tall. I didn't mean--" 

He coughed again, this time obviously covering up a laugh. 

"It's on my face, Sansa, and I've lived with it since I was six. Let's just say I don't get too many women knocking at my door for dates. I'm pretty good at blending into the shadows, being a wallflower." 

Sansa had to laugh at that. "Really?!" She asked incredulously. "You're well over six feet. I don't think you blend in as well as you think you do," she teased. Then she added hesitantly, curiously, "Do you actually ask women out?" She suspected she knew the answer. 

Sandor was silent for a moment, but when he answered he sounded sulky, which made her smile. "Well, no, not often." 

"Why?" 

"You're awfully curious, you know that?" His hand had paused on her back, but it resumed its course with a couple quick rubs for emphasis. 

Sansa nodded because she knew he couldn't see her smile. 

"Let's just say I've been turned down too many times. I've been... burned." 

Oh, thought Sansa, sadly. She knew what that felt like—had lived feeling burned for the last couple of years she was with Joffrey. But she thought about what he said, wondering if he meant women turned him down because of his scar, and she asked what came to mind next. 

"What does it look like?" 

Sandor stilled and she wondered if he was thinking about how to describe it. Was she bringing up bad memories? 

When he spoke it was quietly, a tone of sadness in his voice. She wanted to cry for him when he had just spoken the first few words. 

"It's pretty bad on the right side of my face. It goes from the top of my head, down past my ear, which I really don't have on that side anymore, to my neck and the top of my shoulder." 

Sansa gasped. "What happened?" Then she immediately shook her head. "I'm sorry, don't answer that. I know it's private, I shouldn't have asked." 

But Sandor gave her back the smallest squeeze with his arm. 

"You're okay," he reassured her. "It's a burn scar. It pulls my right eyebrow down and I can't grow a beard on that part of my cheek. But I've learned how to hide it mostly by keeping my beard long and always wearing hoodies. If I don't lift my head, people aren't very aware of their surroundings these days so I can blend in." 

She swallowed, imagining what his scar must look like. In the elevator before the lights had gone out she'd caught a glimpse of an exceedingly handsome man looking up at the lights—deep eyes and a prominent brow, thick black beard, soft-looking lips under a full mustache. She couldn't reconcile what he was telling her with what she had seen. 

"So when you say you've been burned..." she supplied, knowing that she was prying but not really being able to help herself. This was a riveting conversation; not only was she getting to know this unexpectedly fascinating person, but they could be stuck in the elevator for quite some time and she didn't want to suddenly become a bonafide claustrophobe. 

"Yes," he said, and she could hear the momentary smile in his voice before he explained, "Literally, in a couple different ways." 

"By women, too?" she asked, ashamed of her gender. They could be such shallow creatures.

"I can be honest and say that women only want me for my body." 

Sansa laughed at the intended joke. 

It didn't sound like he really wanted to go on about those experiences, so she supplied, "Well..." in a isn't it obvious kind of voice. It made him chuckle, and she felt him relax a bit. 

"May I..." she began, but she trailed off. She knew it wasn't her place to ask this, but maybe he would indulge her curiosity. "May I touch it? I mean--" she stammered. "I want to know what you look like." 

Again he stiffened—boy, she'd be a crack job at reading his body language if there was a light on in here. 

It took him a moment to respond and she decided he was trying to figure out if she was treating him like a freak show or if hers was just a genuine inquisitiveness. She hoped the latter, and she held her breath until she heard his consenting grunt. He didn't pull away or stop her as she shifted to kneeling, her thigh pressed against his own. 

On the contrary—he reached over until his hands bracketed her hips and welcomed her to sit directly in front of him, her bottom resting on his thighs just above his knees. She blushed, but also knew that she was now directly in front of his face. She would get a better look at his face this way, with her hands. 

She waited, though, for his verbal permission, and he gave it eventually. "Only if I can touch your face when you're done." 

Sansa smiled, but she felt her heart skip a beat at the thought of this man using his large hands to touch her face. It sounded sensual and—good grief, was he thinking the same thing about her touching his? Crap! But no, she told herself that he likely would not have allowed her to sit on his lap had he been aroused by the idea of her touching him. It was an inconspicuous position in that event, but he also had made himself vulnerable to her and she didn't think he would be that like that—cunning, in a way. 

She shook her head at the craziness going on in her brain. She was just feeling the scar, she told herself. She wasn't caressing him. 

Though as she agreed to his request and brought her hands up to his face, that is exactly what she did, what she intended as soon as her fingertips came into contact with flesh. And suddenly sitting on his lap didn't sound like a good idea. 

She touched his left side first—the smooth forehead, the hair of his eyebrow, he closed his eyes so she could feel his eyelids, and then she ran her finger down his nose. It felt like it had been broken before. She willed her fingers to flow with acceptance, hoping that when she reached the scarring that she would not allow any interruption in the caress of her fingers. If women turned him away for what they perceived as ugliness, she prayed that through her touch he would feel the opposite. 

Running her fingers down his beard, she could feel its thickness, how it was longer than most men wore, but only an inch or so long at his chin. And his mustache was well-trimmed, hiding beneath it lips that were soft under her fingers. 

Those lips moved against her fingers as he said, "I thought you were going to feel the scar." 

Sansa was building up to that but she wasn't going to say it. "Shh, let me finish," she said instead, a smile affecting her voice. Then she added admonishingly, just to make him laugh, "Don't rush me," and it had its intended effect. 

Her hand wandered down to the side of his neck and, underneath the thin layer of hair covering it—which in itself Sansa was finding sexy as hell—lay corded muscle and tendons, the neck of a man who worked out. She could imagine what it looked like, from what she knew of the face that she had seen in the moments before the lights went out. 

Finally she lifted her hand to his hair and brushed it back and away from his face, feeling its softness as she threaded it through her fingers. She let them fall down to his shoulder until she was pulling at the last few strands in her hand. She felt him shiver, his whole body tremble, as she glided her grip over the ends until the last strand escaped her grasp. Her nipples tightened reflexively at the effect her touch had on him, the thought suddenly crossing her mind that what she had just done—and his reaction to it—was incredibly erotic. 

Schooling her own reaction to her movements, she knew it was time to use her other hand on the very reason she had asked to do this in the first place. He must have sensed it too, as his large, warm hands came up to her body, one resting on her thigh and the other on her hip. Was he getting ready to push her away? 

She started deliberately in the middle of his forehead, away from where he said the scar started. But as she dragged her fingers left, she encountered scar sooner than she had expected. She gasped, but kept her fingers moving, upwards now, travelling along the edge of the scar to grasp its breadth. She felt it travel up his scalp to where his hairline began at the top of his head. Then it curved back and she followed that curve, behind the bump that was his ear, down to the nape of his neck where his hair continued around the back of his head. 

She brought her hand back up to place her palm on his temple and she slid it down, her fingers feeling the puckered ridges of scar tissue as they drifted over his ear and down to the side of his neck. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes though she remained silent as she explored this horrifying disfigurement. This poor man, she thought. She couldn't imagine the ostracization he must have endured to hide himself away from society the way he did, nor the humiliation... 

He need not feel any, she told herself through her tears, as she had felt nothing but a gentle kindness from him since the elevator had gotten stuck. He had cared for her, held her, soothed her with his words and his hands, and he was afraid she wouldn't like what she felt when she touched his scar. 

She wanted to feel the line of the scar on his cheek where he said his beard had never grown because of the mangled tissue. She used two fingers to caress the skin over his cheekbone, sliding them from the side of his cheek towards the underside of his eye. She felt the line where his beard started, and as she followed it over towards his mustache she felt something else—wetness. 

With a gasp she realized he had a tear running down his cheek. In the darkness she allowed her shock to show on her face, but then she was overcome with an overwhelming sense of injustice for him. Before he could react to her startled reaction, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the skin where she felt the tear, coming away with its saltiness on her lips. 

Sandor shifted underneath her. He ground out, "Why did you do that?" though it was more of a statement than a question. His voice was thick, rough with emotion. He knew that she knew the effect her touch had had on him. 

She answered with her own question. "How can a 36-year-old man hide from the world? You don't deserve that, Sandor," she said, a couple tears running down her cheeks and falling to the front of her shirt. 

He was quiet for a time before he grunted a response, and he took her wrists and guided her hands down. "My turn," he growled, and she felt his hands come up, both of them at once, to touch her hair. 

Sandor's hands slid down, mirroring each other in their movements. He pulled her hair through his fingers much as she had done for him, and with much the same result. Sansa shivered, and she thought she heard the barest rumbling of a groan come from deep within him. 

His hands moved to her forehead, then he stroked her arched brows and her eyelids. When he trailed his fingers down her nose and across her cheekbones they came away wet. His hands left her face quickly. 

"Sansa," he said, sounding startled. She knew she was crying, and now he had evidence of it on his fingers. "What--" he stammered. "Why are you crying?!" 

She sniffed now, but smiled as she spoke, embarrassed that he'd found the tears. "I'm so sad for you, Sandor." 

He groaned and pulled her against his chest, the evidence in his movements that his instincts were to protect her, and to comfort her. "I shouldn't have told you about the scar," he said, to which she pulled away from him. 

"No, I'm glad you did. You shared something with me that is incredibly personal, simply because I asked it of you. Thank you, Sandor, truly. You've given me a gift and I want to return it." She ran her hands down his arms to his wrists and brought his hands back up to her cheeks, but as soon as his palms cupped her skin, she didn't want him to just feel her face anymore. 

Today had been a regular day until she'd gotten the news of Joffrey. Then she'd been happy, ecstatic really. And to top it off she'd been heading to go have dinner with her family, whom she loved dearly. All in all, today had been about to end up one of the best she'd had in a long time. 

Then the—was it an earthquake? And now she was stuck in here with Sandor, and she didn't want to feel sad. She didn't want to feel scared that they were trapped, or anxious that it might take rescuers a long time to get to them. She wanted to feel happy, to celebrate, to continue her evening along a happy line of events the way she had originally planned. 

And she had the perfect person to do it with—Sandor, this scarred, broken man who, she thought with a smile, might need some cheering up. 

So it felt only natural to hold his hands to her cheeks as she leaned forward and found his mouth with her lips. 

He froze, but as her lips slid over his, feeling the spikiness of his mustache and the roughness of his beard, he turned his face away. 

"Sansa," he said, startled. But she had a simple reply. 

"I want you to kiss me, Sandor," she implored, pressing her lips to his in a more desperate way this time. But again he pulled back, his hands falling to her shoulders now. 

"Why?!" It was a strangled question, wrought from his chest and full of sadness, disbelief and resignation. She would not allow his evening to go by without giving him some of the happiness she had experienced earlier—in truth, the happiness she was feeling at that moment. 

"Because!" Her voice rose with agitation. Touching him had started a fever inside her body, and he was here, and the only thing she wanted to do just then was kiss him and have him kiss her back. 

She continued, "Because I had cause to celebrate today and I'm not going to let happenstance prevent me from that. And I have you here with me, and I can't think of anyone else that I would want here with me, now, in this elevator. And because I don’t need to see you to know that you're handsome, sexy, kind, charming, and considerate." 

She could picture him then in the darkness, looking at her with a dumbfounded look on his face and she smiled again, wishing he could see her, wanting to convince him. She placed her hands on either sides of his face and leaned in close so he could feel her presence. 

"I want you to kiss me, Sandor, and when we get out of here I want you to bring me on a proper date, and I want to go for a walk with you, and I want to go to the movies, and hang out, and kiss some more." 

She'd been taken over by a woman she didn't recognize, a woman who had never showed her face in her relationship with Joffrey. But it felt good, and she wanted to feed it and watch it grow. This impulsiveness was empowering, and now that she was on that train, she didn't want to get off. 

Sandor hesitated for a few moments before he leaned forward to kiss her. His lips moved so tentatively, though—so sweetly innocent—that she wondered when the last time was that he was kissed. Her heart at once broke for the man who had never been loved properly, and warmed at the thought that he was allowing himself to be vulnerable to her, to be subject to her touch and her exploration. 

She pressed her torso forward, bringing her hands down the sides of his neck, feeling the dichotomy of puckered scar and scratchy beard against her sensitive palms. She rested them on the sides of his neck as she nibbled at his lips, allowing him to become accustomed to the feel of her there, her presence and her willingness. Her hands cupped his neck under his jaw as her thumbs stroked the textures on his cheeks. She could feel his pulse under her hands, an increasing tempo that called to her and spoke of his mounting desire. 

She was the pursuer, the aggressor, the one doing the coaxing. It was almost odd at first, but also heady, and the heat between her legs was turning maddeningly hot. She brought a knee up and felt the friction between her thighs, her skin becoming overly sensitive at the sensations pouring into her body through her mouth and her hands. 

His mouth parted then, and she swept her tongue inside his mouth. His kiss was shy but he welcomed hers, and as she withdrew only to return, this time with her hands sliding behind his neck and pulling her torso tight against his chest, pressing her breasts to the front of his shirt, he growled deep in his chest—the primal sound triggering something in her, a need long buried deep and never fulfilled. 

"Sandor..." His name on her lips was more a plea than anything, but he reacted to it in a way that spoke of his understanding. His arms tightened around her as her arms crossed behind his neck, and there was no more space between them where they did not touch. Beneath her hip she could feel the hardness of his arousal pushing into her, and it was intoxicating, knowing the effect she was having on him. 

It took but a moment to rise and shift one leg to his other side, such was her instinctual desire to press herself against his erection. His self-consciousness was melting away at the same time she was feeling this feminine power course through her, and suddenly it was passion and fireworks—as though they were going to light up the interior of the carriage with their sparks. She let her hands roam over his muscular shoulders, feeling the width of them, and the muscles in his arms. His hair smelled clean and felt soft between her fingers as she grasped it with abandon, holding his mouth captive against her own. 

Their kiss was heat and fire, their tongues tangling as he grabbed her hips and ground her down into the growing hardness in his lap. On one particular pass he found exactly the right spot, and she gasped into his mouth. 

He used the pause in kissing as an opportunity to tear his mouth from hers, trailing kisses down the sensitive skin of her cheeks. Sansa's head fell backwards, giving him full access as his beard-roughened skin scratched at her delicate neck. 

"I want you, Sandor," she gasped, bringing her face up and pulling at his hair to take his mouth in another wild kiss. 

"Now?" He groaned, pulling at her hips and rubbing her against him. 

She whimpered, "Yes, now, right now." 

There was hardly any pause in his ardor as his mouth left her skin. Suddenly she was lifted off him and in moments her boots and jeans were off, their hands bumping and tangling in their haste to get off just enough clothing that they could become joined together. But when she thought he would lay her down on the floor, he had merely pulled down his sweats and shorts and tugged her back onto his lap. 

"Oh!" She exclaimed as his hardness rubbed against her naked core. "Sandor, I..." She was suddenly embarrassed, though incredibly turned on at what this position implied. "I've never done this before, Sandor," she whispered as his mouth took hers again in a passionate kiss. 

His tongue swiped at the corner of her mouth and he tugged on her lower lip with his teeth. He robbed her of nearly all ability to think, so sexy was the feel of his soft lips devouring hers, his scratchy beard leaving paths of sensation across her skin. His taste was enough to send her eyes rolling back into her head—like mint and man and sex. 

He chuckled, drawing her mind back to the present as he asked, "Made love in an elevator? Me neither." He resumed his attack on her neck, nipping and sucking as she rocked against him, sliding his length along the wetness between her legs. 

"No... brat... ummmm," she could barely think but she smiled nonetheless. "I've never been on top before," she choked out as he guided her to center along his hard cock and she felt her climax building. 

"Sansa, beautiful, you couldn't be more perfect." He growled the last against her neck as he held her hips and continued to help her rock. Her hands wanted to touch him everywhere but they settled, one in his hair and one on his shoulder, as the pressure intensified and built up in or torso, until he captured her mouth and hauled her against him with a large hand on her backside, giving her that one last fierce moment of friction that sent her over the edge. 

Sansa wrapped her arms around him for support as tremors wracked her body, until she felt like she would come out of her skin if he so much as breathed against her sensitive skin. 

"Ohmygod," she said in a rush against his neck. She could feel her muscles clenching wildly as her orgasm rippled through her lower body. Never before had she had one so powerful, so all-consuming. She pressed her lips against his though without any true intention of kissing him. She just wanted the contact, for him to feel her absolute shock in the black carriage interior. 

"That was..." She couldn't form a sentence, such a rush was it to have an orgasm while still half-dressed and upright. Wow. 

He seemed to be letting her come down from that high, but she knew—as he likely did as well—that they were not finished. 

Once she was able to, she lifted up onto her knees and reached between them. For the first time her hand wrapped around his hardness and she moaned against his skin, feeling sexy and alive, like her body was on fire. She had just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of her life and she still wanted more, so she positioned him at her entrance and started to slide down, his hiss of arousal like music to her ears. 

"Sansa, fuck," he ground out, and as she took him all in, he cupped her face and kissed her. 

She moaned his name, but he seemed to understand that she wanted some guidance. With his hands on her hips, he guided her to rock back and forth. The sensation of being on top was incredible, the depths to which she could take him different than anything she'd ever felt before. This was her celebration, and he was her prize. She moved and he growled against the skin of her neck. 

But she wanted to feel his skin, to touch his chest and his back, his shoulders and arms. She leaned back, pausing her movements to grab at the hem of his t-shirt and drag it up and over her head. Then she splayed her hands over his upper chest and shoulders, giving an appreciative sigh at the feel of his warm flesh under her palms. 

Slowly she leaned forward, conscious of his size inside her and the way he filled her completely. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, using her hands to guide her in the darkness. Then she scraped her teeth more towards his neck and his hands gripped her hips, as though keeping them from touching her. 

He tilted his head to the side and she pressed kisses to the hollow of his neck, moving upwards to the tendons and slightly hairy skin under his ear. When she nipped him there with his teeth at the same time she withdrew from him and sunk back down, he groaned. Then her shirt was coming up and off her body, and his hands were reaching around to unsnap her bra. 

"Fuck," he said again as her breasts filled his hands. As he cupped them and felt them he nudged her face to the side with his head and planted an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck. Sansa's mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, and she braced her hands on his shoulders as she began to move in earnest. 

But Sandor wrapped an arm around her back and bent her backwards so he could pull a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to cause her to cry out. Sansa slid her fingers into his hair and held on tightly, his onslaught building a familiar pressure deep in the pit of her stomach. He moved to the other breast and she moaned his name, her hands rubbing at his hair, feeling the scar on the side of his head as his tongue worked her nipple. Then with a final tug with his teeth he sat back and grasped her hips, letting her know he wanted her to resume her movements. 

And she did, more fervently than before, feeling all awkwardness melt away at his aroused grunts and groans, his hands on her body, moving over her sides, her hips and thighs, her back, her breasts, her shoulders—everywhere, his hands were seeing her where his eyes could not. It was so arousing, so incredibly sexy, and she felt powerful and in control, with the feel of him sliding in and out of her based on her movements an intoxicating rhythm. 

His hands landed on her hips and he urged her to move faster. She did, and as she felt his body tense she heard him growl, "Fuck," knowing he was close to release. The knowing was what sent her over the edge, and he pressed his mouth to hers as she cried out, her release exploding inside her and causing her to see lights behind her eyelids. 

She tried to move more but her rhythm was off now, so he helped her with the last few thrusts until he, too, found his release, and they collapsed together against the wall, Sansa leaning heavily on his chest. They were both breathing hard, and she could feel the air in the small carriage was hot, and it smelled like sex. Delicious, stunning, wonderful sex. She couldn't help but smile into his neck.

• • • • •

Sandor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest. She was glorious, and her hair smelled amazing. The only regret he had was that he hadn't been able to see her face during either time that she had orgasmed. He was sure the sight would be powerfully arousing.

He thought back to what she had said, about seeing each other again after they got out of this mess they were in. He was definitely all for it, especially where she had said they would kiss some more—man, he loved her kisses. He was just worried that once the light was on, she wouldn't want to kiss him anymore. After all, that was something women didn't do with him. Ever. 

She had kissed him in the dark, though. Didn't that amount to something? She had kissed him while her hands were on his face, so she had felt the scar while she'd kissed him. It wasn't something that even in darkness he could completely hide. 

But still, as he felt her soft breath tickling the hairs on his neck, her right hand stroking the naked skin of his hip and the fingers of her left hand idly playing with the hair on his chest, he hoped things would be different with her—that her heart in the light would match her heart in the darkness. 

"Do you like sushi?" He asked quietly, eliciting a giggle from her. 

"No, not at all." 

"We were meant to be together, then," he quipped, and she laughed. He prompted, "Pizza?" 

"Love it." 

"Vanilla or chocolate ice cream?" 

"Chocolate," she said with a chuckle. 

"Damn. Well, it was nice knowing you." He smiled into her hair as he said it, but laughed when she gently tugged on some of his chest hairs. 

Then it was her turn. She pressed a kiss to his neck for the umpteenth time and said, "You have to like nature. That's a deal breaker for me." He could tell she was waiting, holding her breath to hear his answer. 

He sighed dramatically. "I play video games all day and am allergic to sunlight." Again, she pulled his chest hair and he laughed, wrapping his arms tightly around her back. 

But he sobered quickly, still thinking about what was going to happen when they left the elevator. 

"You really want to go on a date with me?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear her answer, but he hoped he'd like it. 

"One? Hmmm... No, not one. Many, I think. With more of this," she said, nuzzling his neck with the tip of her nose. 

"Sex?" He asked, chuckling as she wiggled against him to lean back. And though she tightened her muscles around him and he could feel himself harden inside her, she put her hands on his face and leaned forward to give him a soulful, searing kiss. 

"That too," she whispered, but she smiled against his lips. "But I meant snuggling." 

"Hmpf," he grunted, kissing her again and drawing her lower lips into his mouth. Her sex appeal was potent, but the feel of her body in his arms was enough for him to agree with her. It felt right, like they were made to fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle, in this position. "I like it, too," he whispered, and he felt her lips curve upwards as she kissed him again. 

Sansa rocked her hips on top of his. She moved her torso from side to side slightly, and he felt her stiff nipples graze his chest. 

"If you keep moving like that I'll turn our rescuers away at the door," he said, leaning her back to take a peak into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and tugged with his teeth before moving onto the other side and repeating the motions. Her hands went into his hair and gripped it tightly. He continued to grow hard inside her, until he thought he would burst if she didn't do something about it. 

"I may bar the door before you do," she gasped, and he lost all sense of control. Wrapping an arm around her back he maneuvered them quickly until he was laying on top of her and her legs were wrapped around his thighs. 

"Oh, Sandor..." She moaned into his mouth as his lips captured her in a burning kiss. Then he withdrew almost completely and thrust back into her quickly, causing her to cry out as her nails dug into the backs of his shoulders. 

He had surprised her, he could tell, but before he had a chance to question whether he should slow down, her heels were urging him on at the backs of his thighs and her arms slid under his and around his back, pulling him to her as they moved down to cup his bottom. "Yesss," she hissed, crying out with each thrust. Her voice went to the side and he sensed her head was turned, so he leaned down to latch onto her neck with his mouth, sucking hard enough that he knew he was going to leave a mark. 

He let the sensation of her tightness take him over and he leaned down on his elbows, covering her torso with his and burying his face into the crook of her neck. He thrust faster and she cried louder, until they were both panting. He felt her body draw tight like a bow strong, and suddenly she threw her head back, her nails scraping at his neck as her climax ripped through her body. 

The squeezing and spasming around his cock was too much for him to withstand and he came inside her, giving a couple last hard thrusts before nearly collapsing on top of her. 

He stayed there for a couple minutes, willing his breathing to slow and his heart to calm down, before lifting his head and feeling the sides of her face. He needed to regain his bearings before attempting to kiss her in the darkness of the carriage. When he did and he pressed his lips to hers, her kiss was slow and sensuous, sweet like her. She kissed him like they had all the time in the world, to just softly explore each other's mouths until the sun imploded and the earth was no more. It was the best kiss of Sandor's life, and he was going to remember it forever. 

It was then that he heard faint voices coming from—somewhere, he didn't know where. He chuckled as he sensed exactly when Sansa heard it too. Oh!" She cried out, and she started pushing on him. He was alarmed for a second before he heard her laughing, saying, "Get off me you big, sexy brute! We need to find my underwear!!" 

He laughed and separated himself from her, quickly managing to find his own clothes and piling them off to the side while they used their hands to search for hers. He momentarily thought how horrible it would be for the lights in the elevator to suddenly turn on, both of them stark naked on their hands and knees looking for an article of clothing that was likely right under their noses. He chuckled at the thought, and when Sansa asked what he was laughing about in a half-panicked voice, he told her. After that they barely managed to find the clothes and get them on for all the laughing they did. 

Sandor knew he had never had as much fun as he did then with Sansa in the elevator. Sex aside, he had enjoyed his time immensely, and the laughter just proved to him that they could be good together. That she wasn't freaking out and getting upset told him she was more laid back and easy going than most women he knew. How wonderful of a coincidence it was that they managed to go through an earthquake and get stuck in an elevator together. Thank God it wasn't some middle-aged businessman, he thought to himself. 

Sandor was dressed but Sansa still had her bra, shirt and jacket to get on when the voices came close enough that they could tell the people were right outside the door. It also sounded like they were between floors, as the voices came from the bottom area of the door. 

"Help me!!!" She hissed at him, laughing while trying to sound serious. 

A voice came from the other side of the door. "Hang in there! We'll get you out, just hang on!" 

"Thank you!" Sandor called in return, but he took Sansa's bra from her hands where she was shoving it against his chest. Then on impulse he sank to his knees and pulled her chest towards his face, drawing a breast into his mouth while he palmed and squeezed the other. 

"Ohh-mmmm, Sandorrr," she moaned. But just as quickly he threaded her arms through the arm holes and fumbled in the darkness at her back until he had it clasped. Then he held her t-shirt while she slid it over her head, and helped her into her jacket. She was combing her fingers through her hair as there was a banging and the door cracked open, just enough that they could see the emergency lights were on in the hallway. 

Moment of truth, thought Sandor as he turned to look at Sansa. He watched her eyes as she turned to look at him, and saw them move over his face, over the scar at the side, and then back to his mouth. Then she surprised him and brought her hand up to trace the path her eyes had just traced—over his smooth brow, down his scarred cheek, and coming to rest on his lips. She looked at his eyes and then back to his mouth, her smile fading away. 

Then her tongue came out to wet her lips, and—fuck's sake, he thought—he knew what she was thinking. His hand came up to grasp hers and he kissed her fingertips, her eyes watching his movements. When they looked back up at his they were dark with desire, and she shivered beneath his gaze. 

"Are you guys okay? How many are in there?" 

A man's voice came through the crack and tore them from the moment, but Sansa's blue eyes and kiss-reddened lips were burned into his mind. "Two, just two... and yeah, we're okay." He barely managed to get out their status, with the jumble of thoughts that was going on through his mind. 

She'd seen him and she hadn't turned away, hadn't been disgusted or averted her eyes from his face. The look in her eyes had been pure remembrance of their short time together in the elevator, and if there wasn't a small crowd outside the elevator doors he might have given into lust and taken her again. 

He took a chance and reached for her hand as he stood next to her, and was relieved when she threaded her fingers through his and squeezed them. Then she looked up at him and smiled, a wide, happy smile. She pulled the corner of her lip in between her teeth, and in the thin beam of light coming through the doors he could see she was blushing. 

Sandor leaned down and kissed her cheek, again showing her the scarred side of his face. "You're magnificent," he whispered as the doors widened. Sansa barely had time to squeeze his hand and blush again, before she was whisked through the opening at the bottom of the door.

• • • • •

Sansa was quickly checked over in the hallway by EMTs as Sandor was drawn out of the same space in the elevator doors. He was huge, so rather than being carried out like she was, he did most of the work. He didn't seem to mind, she could tell, because his only concern when he finally stood tall was searching the small hallway until his eyes landed on her.

He had called her magnificent, but it was him who was the personification of the word. She had of course seen him before, outside the building, but only by catching brief glimpses of him. She knew he was large, knew he had the long hair and also knew he was physically fit. But seeing him now in the soft glow of light in the hallway, she realized her opinion of him was understated. 

His sweatpants were baggy but hung low on his hips, and his t-shirt wasn't very loose, accentuating his muscular chest and flat stomach. His arms were big, and she blushed, remembering how they had felt wrapped around her. 

Good lord, did she really just make love to a complete stranger in the elevator? Yes, and it was amazing, she thought to herself. But she smiled at him when his eyes fell on her, and she had a feeling that he was thinking the same thing—that he knew. 

After the EMTs had checked him over she realized he wasn't approaching her. It was odd—she had walked out of the elevator feeling like they were actually a couple, seeing as how they'd been as intimate as married folk in the dark stillness in the small carriage. But now he was distant, though he kept his eyes trained on her most of the time. Then when they were ushered to the stairwell and had to take the eight floors down to the ground level—she was told they had fallen a couple floors but were stopped just before the 8th floor—she could feel his eyes on her from where he walked a couple spaces behind. 

By the time they reached the doorway to the lobby downstairs she was thoroughly confused. Everything they had talked about had pointed to them walking out hand-in-hand, but now he was treating her like she was just... free to go. It didn't make any sense. She stopped just before the door and waited for him to catch up, but an EMT ushered her out, saying something about needing to evacuate the building. 

She was then separated from Sandor completely, though as she walked out the front doors of the apartment building she was suddenly rushed by what seemed like her entire family. 

"Sansa!" Jon got to her first and hugged her as Arya came up, wrapping her arms around Sansa's waist from behind. 

"Sansa!" She cried, pulling away to look up into her big sister's face. "We were so worried!" 

Her mother reached her and pulled her into a quick embrace, but not before Sansa saw the tears in her eyes. "Mom!" She exclaimed, hugging the older woman back fiercely. "Mom, I'm okay, really, I promise," she said, though seeing her mother in tears from worry for her safety nearly made Sansa cry as well. 

Her father saved her, coming up behind the two hugging women and wrapping his arms around both of them at once. 

"You didn't answer your phone and we couldn't get in touch with anyone at the building," he was saying, his cheek resting on her head. He turned to look at her and Sansa was dismayed to see a fine sheen of wetness in his eyes. "We were worried, but then we heard there may be people stuck in the elevators. Are you okay? Were you hurt?" He reached a finger up to touch the bruise on her forehead. 

Sansa flinched away, suddenly remembering the blasted thing, thinking how funny it was that she had forgotten it was even there. She had been too busy with-- 

"Sansa, your shirt is inside out," said Jon, standing off to the side with Robb, Bran, and Rickon behind him. Her adopted cousin had one eyebrow raised, while her three brothers just laughed. 

"Oh!" Sansa looked down and indeed saw that the screen print on the front of her shirt was on the inside. 

Catelyn came to her rescue before her blush gave her away. "You must have been in quite a hurry to get dressed when that earthquake hit, honey. Oh, my dear, I am so glad you're okay." Sansa was saved from further embarrassment by being wrapped in another firm hug from her mother. 

The real reason why her shirt was inside out seemed to have disappeared, and being surrounded by family members was preventing her from getting a glimpse of where Sandor had gone off to. 

Her father began to fuss over her mother, and were preceded to the waiting car by her three brothers and sister. Jon hung back, offering his arm to Sansa. His soft face and curly hair hadn't always endeared him to her, but as they'd aged and she had moved away, his demeanor had grown on her and now she felt he looked like he needed thick glasses, and a permanent spot on a local coffeehouse with a laptop. It was good to see him, she decided. 

But as they neared the car he hesitated, slowing until they were standing a ways away from the open door. 

"Sansa, you have a mark on your neck." His voice was quiet and discreet, but that damn eyebrow was raised again. Sansa's hand flew to her neck. She knew the exact spot he was talking about, and blushed, giving herself away. She turned up the collar of her coat to hide it. "And the inside-out shirt?" He questioned, a smile on his lips. 

"Jon, for crying out loud," she exclaimed, embarrassed. Then she darted a glance back at the car before leaning closer to him and smiling. "Don't you dare say anything, or I'll tell everyone it was you who tipped over Arya's birthday cake on her twelfth birthday!" His eyes widened at the mention of their little secret, but he smiled at her as well. 

"Would this man happen to be very tall with long black hair, and staring at you right at this very moment?" At his words Sansa abruptly stood up straight, turning this way and that until the crowd around the building parted enough for her to catch a glimpse of him. He stood nearly behind an ambulance, his sweater now on but the hood hanging down his back. 

Sansa barely had time to tell Jon, "Tell mom and dad I'll be right back," before she took off jogging towards where she had seen Sandor. She had to juggle through the mass of rescue personnel and residents until she found the spot, only to see that he had disappeared. She looked around, finally seeing his tall form walking away from the entrance towards the park. 

"Sandor!" She called after him, but he must not have heard. She struggled through what was left of the crowd and caught up to him, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. "Hey! Why did you leave?!" 

When he looked down at her she realized his eyes looked... sad. She didn't understand. "I thought we had talked in there, had agreed to continue what we found between us once we got out?" She dropped her hand and waited for him to answer. 

"But had you really thought through what it would be like to date a guy who looks like this?" He pulled his hair aside to show her the scarring in the low light of evening. Streetlights were beginning to come on and the scar did indeed look horrific. 

"It's bad, Sandor, I know that. I knew you had a bad scar when I touched you in the elevator," she stepped closer to him, "And when I felt it, from the top of your head down to the top of your shoulder." She didn't touch him, she wanted him to take that step. But she stood mere inches from him and looked up into his eyes, letting all her emotions show in hers. "I knew you had a bad scar when I kissed you, and when I touched you, and when I let you touch me. And I knew about the scar when I told you I wanted you to take me on a date." 

Sandor looked up and let out a breath, looking discomfited. Sansa went on anyway. 

"Don't you understand? I cried for you, for your scar and what you must have gone through to receive it. I didn't shy away from you or refuse to let you touch me, did I." The last was said as a statement, but she couldn't keep herself from touching him any longer. She reached out and took his hand, glancing over to make sure they were out of sight of her parents car. She was pretty sure he was going to be introduced to them tonight, but there were some things she didn't want them to see. 

She felt his eyes on her as she lifted his hand, wrapping her smaller hand around the base of his thumb and bringing it up to her mouth. She kissed the back and then rested it against her cheek, loving the feel and the warmth of his skin against hers. "Sandor," she said quietly, "I think what we have could be good. For both of us." 

Despite all the city noises, the cars and the people, the dogs barking and the planes flying overhead to the nearby airport, she closed her eyes and for all the attention she paid to the outside noises, they could have been on a deserted island. So when she felt his other hand come up to run down the length of her hair she looked into his eyes, waiting for any confirmation that he felt the same. 

"Sansa," he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. He cleared his throat. "I don't want to saddle you with a broken man." His hand brought some of her hair around and he trailed it through his fingertips until the ends slid through at her waist. 

Sansa shivered at the tingling his touch left on her scalp, and she closed her eyes briefly to enjoy it. "You're not broken. You're perfect the way you are," she said, smiling. Then she reached up and put a hand behind his neck, drawing him down to kiss her softly. It was sweet, poignant, and as their lips moved together his hands slid around her waist, drawing her lower body into him as he supported her upper body with an arm around her shoulders. Her own arms came up to wrap around his neck and she gave into the kiss, allowing it to become heated in just a few seconds. 

She dragged her mouth away from his and said into the scarred tissue of his cheek, "I want to climb you like a tree." A deep, rumbling laugh sounded from within his chest and he pulled her in tight, burying his head in the softness of her hair and standing up straight so her feet were no longer touching the ground.  
From behind her ear Sansa heard him say, "I'd let you." She laughed as he set her back down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left them both breathless, and restless. 

But just then a shocked voice called from around the corner, "Sansa!" 

Sansa whirled around to find her entire family standing at the corner of the building, with Jon in the background just shrugging, with a huge smile on his face. The brat, she thought, though she was too focused on the fact that Sandor had kept an arm around her waist and she was pulled backwards into his front. At the feel of his hardness rubbing against her lower back, she almost giggled. 

"Please don't move," he whispered down to her as her family approached, and she squeezed the hand he held hers with at her side. 

"Mom, Dad!" Sansa smiled brightly as her family approached, and she in turn took in their collective reaction to the enormous man standing behind her. Her mother Catelyn looked horrified while beside her, Ned looked shocked. Robb's expression said he wished he was off duty from his police job so he could pummel Sandor, and Bran and Rickon were openly staring at his scar. Arya's expression, unfortunately, mirrored Jon's, and she grinned wider as she examined Sandor from top to bottom and back again, giving Sansa a conspicuous wink. 

Just as Sansa realized no one was saying anything, Sandor must have felt that-killed-the-moment enough to step out from behind her and stretch his hand out towards her father. After a beat Ned took it, though everyone there could see his hand wasn't as big as Sandor's. Arya choked out a laugh and looked up again at Sandor, her eyes now looking wide in an idol worship kind of way. 

"Sir, my name is Sandor, Sandor Clegane." Ah, so that was his last name. She liked it. It sounded... manly. She struggled not to allow everything about him make her blush, but failed. 

"Ned Stark," Sansa's father replied as the men shook hands. Ned turned and introduced Catelyn, whose thin lips barely registered a smile, and the other three boys in turn, all shaking hands with him. When it was Arya's turn she grabbed his hand and turned it palm up. 

"Holy shit, look at those mitts!" she cried. 

"Arya!" Her father admonished as she let go of Sandor's hands. 

"What?! He's a big guy! It's not like he doesn't know." Then she looked at Sansa with the most lecherous grin a 21-year-old girl could give, and she added, "And Sansa knows it, too." 

Sansa had to drop her eyes and she heard Sandor cough beside her. She was going to strangle Arya the next chance she got. 

Jon finally came forward, breaking the uncomfortable silence Arya's bold proclamation had caused, and he shook Sandor's hand with a genuine look of interest and... compassion. Jon hadn't been born into the family, and as it was, he had never felt completely one of them. He had told Sansa so, recently on a day she had invited him out to lunch when he was in town. It was just one of the reasons their relationship was growing. 

Now, she felt that he was thankful to not be the only odd-man-out. When the men released their hands Jon took a step back and to the side, but kept his body between the rest of the family and Sandor. It was a subtle way for him to tell them that Sandor wasn't going to be harassed, and Sansa sent him a smile to thank him. 

The action must have cleared the fog of Protective Dad from Ned's brain, because he stepped forward and spoke loudly, so that everyone could hear. "We were going out to dinner tonight, all of us, and I'd like to invite you, Sandor. We have enough room in our car for one more, if you’d like to." Sansa looked up at her father, grateful that he was smiling, if a bit tight-lipped, at Sandor. She also noted that he refused to look at Sandor's scar, which she supposed was probably a good thing. It would come out later the reason why he had gotten it. Even she didn't know that story. 

Sandor looked down at her, and he only smiled when he saw her face, a smile spreading her lips and hope in her eyes. Then he looked back up at Ned—or down, rather, as he was half a foot taller than the older man—and nodded. "I'd like that, sir." 

Ned scoffed. "Please, call me Ned." Then he turned to everyone standing behind him and said, "Okay, everyone back to the car." He herded them with his arms outspread as though they were chickens, and Jon followed behind, sending a smile back at Sansa and winking at her. Sansa chuckled but called out, "We'll be there in a minute!" With a backwards wave her father acknowledged that he had heard, and the whole group rounded the corner and walked out of sight. 

Sansa turned and shyly looked up at Sandor, who smiled back at her. She was in a fantastic mood. Her family had met—and somewhat approved of—Sandor, and they were all going to enjoy a meal somewhere together. It was more than she had hoped for the end of her evening. 

"Well?" She asked him as he reached for her hands. He brought them both up to his mouth and kissed them in turn. "What do you think?" 

Without answering, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss. Immediately her hands went up and buried themselves in his hair, as his hands went around her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her into his body. She couldn't believe that a couple hours ago she had never met this man; that his role in her life had been an object of curiosity she figured she would never get to explore. 

But now, with his hands on her body, his lips on hers, and his tongue in her mouth, tangling with her own, she felt like more was right in the world than it ever had been. This caring, generous, sweet, humble man was hers, and she was going to lay claim to him in every way she knew how. 

Sandor abruptly broke the kiss, dragging in a ragged breath as he pressed her pelvis to his front. She could feel his arousal, and felt her own building inside her body, mirroring his. 

"You're going to kill me, woman," he growled into her neck. 

"Not before you kill me first," she gasped, bring his face back for another passionate kiss. It lasted only moments before he pulled away yet again, laughing into her hair. 

"We have to stop, or your family will come looking for us again." 

As much as Sansa wanted to ignore what he was saying, she knew he was right. So she separated their bodies but pulled his head down for one last kiss, not being able to get enough of his lips. She could kiss them forever and be a happy woman. 

"Stop," he said as she pecked a kiss to his lips, "or I'll," another kiss, "feed you," she licked at them when they didn't respond to her, "vanilla ice cream." 

"Oh, you play dirty," she said laughing, though she pulled away. "Fine." She smiled at him, and blushed when he smiled back. "Let's go brave my family, together," she added with a wink. As she turned he came up behind her and slid a large hand into the back pocket of her jeans. 

"I'd follow you anywhere so long as you let me do this," he said with a chuckle. 

"That, and much more," replied a smiling Sansa, her eyes holding promises.


End file.
